N.W.2 : Spring

The poets never lied when they praised
Spring in England.
Even in this neat suburb
You can feel there’s something to
their pastorals.
Something gentle, broadly nostalgic, is stirring
On the well-aired pavements.
Indrawn brick
Sighs, and you notice the sudden sharpness
Of things growing.
The sun lightens
The significance of what the houses
Are steeped in,
brightens out
Their winter brooding.
Early May
Touches also the cold diasporas
That England hardly mentions.